Freckles
by Chaotic Neutralist
Summary: After moving to Britain to start a new life, Lucine Dupont merely wants a quiet life in Clifford-by-the-Sea, a quaint coastal town on the border of England and Wales, but after running into the man known as Oliver Kirkland, nothing can ever be quite the same. At the very least, she's never met someone so insecure about his freckles. Oneshot. No pairings. Rated T.


**Disclaimer:** Hetalia: Axis Powers is a property of Hidekaz Himura. I do not own its characters, but I do own my own characters, which will appear over the course of the story.

* * *

 **Freckles**

Clifford-by-the-Sea sits along the western coastline of Great Britain, on the border of Wales and England, and used to be a popular tourist town. At least until the deaths started occurring. It started off as the occasional tourist going missing, but once people are dying every couple of weeks with the same MO, you know there is a real problem.

Everyone knew who was responsible for these crimes, but anyone who voiced their suspicions had always mysteriously disappeared. The police were too afraid to do anything, so the quiet town of Clifford-by-the-Sea put up with it.

It wouldn't be quiet for long.

I brushed the dirt off my hands, setting down the watering can, and picked up my cane, leaning on it. I needed it after a health issue when I was younger, but now, I mostly carried it out of habit. I stepped out of the beating sun and wiped my brow before stepping behind the counter.

Pembroke Apothecary is the place to go for all of your natural goods needs: flowers, shrubberies, seeds, produce, birdhouses, bird feeders, garden ornaments, makeup, bath products, herbs, spices, biscuits, pre-made recipes mixes, tea, herbal medicine, natural remedies, candles, incense, jewelry, recycled furniture, knickknacks, etc. Admittedly, I sell most of my products online, but I just opened my first physical store.

As per usual, the shop was empty, so I sat at the register and read «Jean Barois».

A few moments later, a short man with strawberry blond hair and sky blue eyes stepped into the store, the bell hanging above the doorway ringing. I looked up from my book.

"Hello, poppet!" The frail man—dressed in a baby pink sweater vest—skipped up to the counter.

"Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?" Upon my meeting his firm gaze, he flinched and took a step back before speaking.

"Do you have any flower seeds?"

"Flowers, eh? Let me see..." I rose and wandered over to where I stacked the seed packets. "What kind? I have a lot."

"Hm, something that I could plant now and still see bloom before the year is out would be nice."

"I think we have some scentless mayweed seeds somewhere around here that ought to do the trick."

"I already have oxeye daisies, though. Is there anything else available?"

"There's this St. Peter's wort, some meadowsweet, cornflower—oh my, I didn't know we had autumn hawkbit in stock still!"

"Then, I'll take what you have left of the hawkbit and two of the cornflower."

"Of course. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you," he said as I rung him up at the counter. "Are you new in town?"

"Yes, I've been here a few days, but that is all."

"My name's Oliver, Oliver Kirkland. A pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Lucine Dupont, and the pleasure is mine."

"Is that a French accent?"

"Ah, sort of. I am from Quebec."

"How refreshing."

"Merci. Here are your things. Have a good day, sir."

"You, too, miss."

I didn't think I'd see Oliver ever again anytime soon. After all, he seemed to be finishing his year's gardening and probably wouldn't need my services for quite some time.

Fate had other plans.

There was only one pastry shop in the entire town, but the locals seemed to go out of their way to avoid the store, even going so far as to cross the street and cross back while passing the building.

I never saw any of the locals enter the shop, which was surely why I got such strange looks when I did. They all claimed to go to a bakery in the next town over, which was a little too far away for my taste, since I didn't have a car. I relied on a bicycle to get all the places I needed to go.

"Eh, hello? This is the bakery, right?"

"Indeed, it i—Miss Dupont!"

"Monsieur Kirkland! We meet again."

"What can I do for you, poppet?"

"Do you have tarts?"

"I made a few yesterday, so they're on the table over there~"

"Merci," I said, smiling brightly and heading over to said table. The hinges creaked as Oliver stepped out from behind the counter and tried to sneak up on me.

I selected a wrapped set of five bit-sized tarts garnished with dried fruits and immediately turned to face him.

Oliver held his right hand behind his back and a cupcake in his left.

"I was wondering if you'd try this for me. It's a new almond cupcake I'm testing, but it seems like it's missing something. I really could use a second opinion."

I nodded and was about to take a bite of it when a Mr. Tough Guy in a leather jacket and shades entered the store. His hair reminded me of the redwood trees I had seen in California during my travels to the United States but darker.

"Hey, Oliver, wh—ACK! DON'T EAT THAT!" Too late. I had already taken a bite out of it. I chuckled, immediately recognizing the flavor.

"It's too bitter, Mr. Kirkland. The frosting needs more sugar. It is not quite...edible." Then, for emphasis, I finished off the cupcake and wiped my lips. "The cake part is just fine, though."

The two of them just stared at me for several seconds, not knowing what to say.

"...I'll wait in the back of the shop," the redhead said, hopping over the counter and slinking away, definitely not eavesdropping from the other room. What would make you think that?

"Oh, you have biscuits, too!" I squealed, picking up a stack of biscuits from the table with the tarts. A whoosh of air rushed towards me, but I easily intercepted its source, disarming the strange Englishman.

I forced him to the ground, pressing his own knife against his neck. "You are rather sloppy."

Oliver sighed, giggling, "I underestimated you, poppet."

"May I buy these, s'il vous plaît?" I asked, pointing to the items I wished to purchase.

"You still want to...never mind. Just take them."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, but come back again soon~"

"Oui!"

After that, I was a regular patron of Oliver's bakery. I clearly remember one instance, when I was picking up a muffin for breakfast.

"How do you stand them, poppet?" Oliver asked, tapping his foot at a rapid pace and making the face he makes after accidentally burning a batch of special cupcakes. He tugged on my cheeks, stretching them out, so I playfully slapped him off.

"What are you talking about?"

"The freckles! They're so...embarrassing. I hide mine with makeup." I stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "W-What? It's not funny!" He yelled, threatening me with a bloodstained butcher's knife.

"Freckles on the face are like sprinkles on the cupcake. Sprinkles make the cupcake less bland and more fun to eat. Freckles make a person all the more beautiful."

"R-Really? You think so?" I nodded, and he dropped the knife, instantly glomping me. "You are my bestest friend EVER!"

Even being my one and only friend in all of Clifford-by-the-Sea, he was very strange. Some days, however, he'd close shop for no apparent reason. I noticed there was usually a missing person reported in the local newspaper the next day.

I never questioned it; I didn't want our friendship to change. Besides, I already knew why in the back of my mind...

"Is that all, poppet?" He asked, ringing up the biscuits I wanted.

"Yes, but you have something red on your cheek." I reached over to wipe it off for him, but he forced my hand away and wiped it off himself. "Oliver?"

"I wouldn't want you getting dirty, poppet~"

"What was it?"

"Just a secret ingredient. I only put in my special cupcakes."

Thus, I usually ignored the unwanted attention I received from the villagers due to our friendship.

"Lord, have mercy! How is she still alive?"

"I know, right?"

"She claims they're f-friends..."

"What a creep."

"Then is she...like him?"

"Mommy, why does that lady talk to the scary man?"

"Just keep walking, and don't stare." And so on and so forth.

I spent a lot of my free time sewing little white dolls and clothing for them before burning them in the empty lot behind the shop. It was a way from me to let go of the anger I held for people, because I listed their grievances on strips of paper and stuffed the dolls with them.

None of the dolls could've possibly worked, though. I didn't have hair from the vict—er, I mean—villagers. I didn't need their hair. Why would I need their hair? Heh...

"I can't find my keys!"

"My boyfriend broke up with me..."

"I keep tripping today."

"My dog died."

"My house got broken into."

"My side hurts."

"It must be her fault."

"There's no other explanation."

Somehow, I ended up being blamed for a lot of misfortune that had nothing to do with me. That's when I started getting the letters, the rocks thrown in my windows in the middle of the night, the graffiti calling me a "demon" and a "freak," the shop being egged, things being thrown at me as I passed people on the street, the foot conveniently stuck out so that I trip, etc.

It was all just harmless pranks that meant nothing to me, since I had dealt with much worse on my travels. Besides, no one knew where I lived, so nothing important ever got damaged since I didn't keep valuables in the shop. Still, it was annoying to say the least.

"Go on, I dare you!" Someone shouts from outside. Once again, I glance up from my book as a very unwilling teenager walks into the store, her friends jeering at her through the window.

"Hello, and welcome to the Pembroke Apothecary. How may I help you?"

"Uh...uh...um...er...W-What d-d-do you sell?" She asked with a forced smile, trembling. I suppressed a giggle at her reaction to me.

"A little bit of everything, to be honest."

"Th-Then, do you have, uh, um, uh, m-makeup?"

"Oui, I do. What are you looking for specifically?"

"Uh, uh...eye shadow, p-please," she whimpered. I hobbled over to a shelf lined with my all-natural cosmetics and started vending like any good salesperson.

"What color are you looking for?"

"Wow! This green is really pretty, and it's so cheap!" Her fear faded away, and she started browsing for real, carefully examining my products.

The look on her friends' faces when they realized she had completely forgotten about the dare was hilarious. Eventually, they decided to come inside as well as were also quickly enthralled by the selection. Cha-ching! Who knew teenagers could buy so much?

By the end of the day, I had gained a handful of new customers and officially cleared my record as being a creep. Productive, if I do say so myself.

A few days later, Oliver dropped in, mumbling awkwardly and shifting from foot to foot.

"...Is something the matter, Oliver?" I ask, confused.

"I...um...er...heard you sell concealer," he said, blushing slightly. It took me a moment to realize what he was saying.

"Oh, Oliver, if you want it so badly, it is on that shelf there," I chuckled, pointing.

"Thanks!" He exclaimed, grabbing a case, tossing money at me, and running out of the shop.

"...He really does not like his freckles, does he?"

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 _Translations and Other Notes:  
_ [1] For Americans, cookies are called "biscuits" in British English, and since Lucine didn't learn English from an American, I chose to use biscuits instead. It just seemed more fitting for her character. Plus, the word for cookies is biscuits or something similar in French, too, so it would be a more familiar word to her.  
[2] The joke with the almond cupcake is that Oliver put cyanide frosting on it, which is said to have a scent reminiscent of bitter almond. Lucine notices this and makes sure to point it out. Oliver and Allen are shocked by the fact that an extremely deadly poison doesn't seem to have any effect.


End file.
